Lessons Learned Along the Way
by Diva-esque
Summary: Vermouth may have been called a rotten apple but she's really more of an onion. Strip away one layer, and you'll encounter another, and another. Even she doesn't know where the real her begins.


**Lessons Learned Along the Way**  
_by aishuu_  
Notes: DC fics are always for ickaimp, but this one's also for candychan for many hours of wonderful reading. They'll probably hate it, but it's the thought that counts, right?

* * *

She learns early on that sex is power. 

Women are physically frailer than their male counterparts, but they're also more cunning. She's only met one man who can challenge her wits, and he's the only one she fears. He's also the only man who she's never tried to vamp.

She grows up under the care of her mother, who is employed Off-Off OFF Broadway as a chorus dancer. By the time she comes along, her mother is desperately grabbing at the remnants of her youth, and holding on with the tenacity of a starving pit bull.

She never knows her father; she doesn't even know if her mother knows who her father is. In a way, all her mother's lovers are her father, because a whore's child belongs to every man who ever fucked a woman without love.

She sees the revolving door of her mother's bedroom, the men coming and going at irregular, though frequent, intervals. They have little in common, some small and dark while others are fat and fair. The only thread to link her mother's tastes in partners is the fact they all have money to spend.

She doesn't like how their eyes linger on her. When she's twelve, and her figure starts to show the ripe promise of the woman she will be, one grabs her ass and propositions her lewdly.

She thinks on it for about five seconds, then tells him exactly what he'll have to pay. The man agrees, and she takes him into her room. Surrounded by the few plush toys of her childhood and on top of a faded cotton-candy pink bedspread, she lies naked and lets him take her virginity.

It hurts like hell, and she doesn't find it particularly pleasurable, but she finds the expression on his face enthralling. He thrusts himself in like a animal, but she ignores that, instead concentrating on his desperation as he begs her to move, to squeeze her muscles around his cock, to _damn_ help him, _oh bitch, you damn slut..._

She doesn't come from his actions, but the sense of power sends her over the edge. She praises him as a good lover, lying through her teeth, and he gives her enough money to buy the sapphire earrings she's had her eye on.

The next day she attends the first her day of her seventh grade classes.

* * *

She learns that men seldom know what they want. 

She never has any hesitation in going after what she desires. It may be material, it may be for pride, but she is ruthless when she sets her mind on something. Men, she discovers, are predictable creatures, guided by the head below their waists. She's beautiful and unashamed, and soon she learns how to guide them.

She becomes one of the girls with a reputation, smoking in the back lot and letting the boys grope her in return for favors. Some of the rumors her jealous classmates whisper are true; she does let the boys touch, but she only lets the adults fuck her, since she knows they're the ones who really matter. A couple of the male teachers fall into her schemes, because she is beautiful and willing.

By giving her math teacher a blow job, she ensures straight A's. She lets the vice principal screw her on his desk, guaranteeing his protection when she skips classes. She's high on power, using her body to control those men that want her.

She listens as the other girls dream about love. She dreams about being entirely in control of her destiny, and someday not having to spread her legs to find power. She dislikes the men, but she needs them, because without them she is nothing. She is only as powerful as the lust they turn on her.

* * *

She learns that sometimes mistakes have consequences. 

She's just turned fourteen, and though she's never been regular, she notices her period hasn't come for three months. She worries, and finally goes to a Planned Parenthood clinic and discovers the truth.

She's pregnant. The damn condom must have ripped.

That night she makes a mistake, and admits what happened to her mother. It's the only time she ever breaks down, but she needs to talk to someone. Her mother's pale, sickened face offers her no comfort as she admits she's not only sexually active, but has been for a while.

She's pulled out of school a month later, and goes to "visit relatives," the way many unmarried, pregnant girls do. She hates being pregnant, staring at her distorted reflection as she stands nude in front of a mirror. Her stomach is distended, and she loathes the parasite in her stomach. All she wants is for the ordeal to be over, and she curses her mother for not letting her get an abortion instead. Her mother is a lapsed Catholic, and core beliefs cannot always be ignored. While she herself has no faith in religion, her mother still retains traces of a faithful upbringing.

She can't name which of the men she slept with is the father. All of the men are to her mind, since every man is responsible for her being a whore. At night she curses them, lifting her voice with hatred.

Eventually it is time, and she goes into labor. The act of giving birth lingers for years in her nightmares as her own personal hell. Thirty-two hours of pain, as her muscles contract and the doctor, a tired-looking middle age man, keeps telling her it's not yet time to push. She screams herself hoarse, cursing the bastard that impregnated her and the doctor for his indifference. She curses God, denounces him, and swears about how unfair this all is.

Finally, finally, _finally_ the ordeal ends and she gives birth to a healthy nine pound boy. They ask if she wants to see her child, and she turns her head, not answering aloud. The nurses - those poor, insipid fools - think she is upset about the impending adoption, but they are wrong.

She can't wait to give him away. She knows if she sees him, she might fall in love, and totally destroy her future. She has never loved anything before, and she sees it as a weakness.

* * *

She learns from her mistakes. 

At sixteen, she transfers to a new school, one where she can rebuild herself. Within days she's the most popular girl on campus, a member of the cheerleading squad and girlfriend of the football team's quarterback. It's horribly cliche, but she enjoys the role. Underneath she still feels like the same girl who calculatingly uses men to get what she wants.

She's learning subtlety, and she starts to think that maybe she can believe this lie. Being indiscriminate with her favors has gotten her nowhere. Just when she thinks she's got the world figured out, things change. That's when she meets the boss.

They meet at one of the fundraisers her current boyfriend's mother is chairwoman of. She's there to play the part of the sweet teenager eager to benefit the starving children in Africa. Personally, she thinks the money would be better spent locally. The distant image of poverty in third-world nations isn't real to her.

Her boyfriend has abandoned her because his mother wants him to meet some people - and some girls better suited for his station. She doesn't really care, although she feigns disappointment. She lingers by the punchbowl, wondering if she should try smoozing. Connections are power, after all.

A voice addresses her from behind, politely inquiring about her health. She turns, ready to mouth the expected pleasantries, but her voice catches in her throat when she sees who is talking to her.

He is a handsome man, distinguished, and wears authority like a mantle. There's something in his eyes that makes her shiver, though she can't pinpoint it. Maybe it's the way he's staring into her eyes as she answers him. There is no lust directed at her, and for the first time in her life, she feels genuinely attracted to someone.

They speak for ten minutes, innocuous topics that don't raise any alarms. She has the feeling he's testing her. Whatever his criteria is, she apparently passes. He looks at her, and his hand rests on her shoulder. It's strangely non-sexual, and she is confused. She considers flirting with him, but her instinct tells her it wouldn't be the best move.

He tells her that if she wants to make something of herself, she should contact him. He hands her his business card, a plain white affair with just a phone number on it.

She thinks on it for three weeks, but puts it away. She doesn't need anyone to help her. She will make it on her own.

* * *

She learns that she can only depend on herself. 

One day she comes home and finds her mother dead on the floor, her face swollen from a brutal beating. It's clear that it's one of her mother's "friends" that did the deed. She calls the police, and while they go through the steps, she realizes immediately that they have no interest in solving the case. Her mother is just another whore.

There is no inheritance, unless she counts her mother's usual "friends" that offer to "take care" of her – an she spares a moment to wonder if her mother's killer is among them. She's smart enough not to accept those unreliable offers, having already learned the lesson about consequences to sleeping with men for mere money. Each generation seeks to improve upon the last, and in that regard she is no different than most people. She will not fall into the same trap.

Her mother's death is the final catalyst she needs. Though she's a senior in high school, she puts aside her schooling without graduating. She doesn't have any career plans, but it seems like a good idea to get out of Dodge. She packs two bags – one only half-full – and takes off to find a better life.

Like many beautiful women, she ends up in Hollywood.

* * *

She learns that luck is an important ingredient to success, but the truly smart people rig the deck in their favor. 

She finds a job as a waitress, like many would-be actresses. She works nights and spends the days attending casting calls. A couple of times she lands minor walk-ons, but she's smart enough to know that her career isn't taking off the way it should be. There are many beautiful blond women who want to become famous stars, and many of them have connections she doesn't. She thinks about her choices as she refills ketchup bottles, and scrubs the corner table after another bastard of small tipper leaves.

A couple of her shady customers note her beauty, and make her offers. They tell her they can get her work, _appropriate_ work, and she'll be famous – providing she remembers that tat requires a lot of tit. One of them even goes so far as to offer her his card, one which reeks of a cheap pornography studio.

But it does serve to remind her of that other card. She had put the thought of that man out of her mind, but his card one of the few things she had packed, and one day she decides she's had enough of being pawed by middle-aged men with no prospects. She's not desperate – she never is – but she is running out of options, and it's better to know what choices remain.

The number is still in service. It's been three years since they met, but someone she isn't surprised when he immediately recognizes her name. The tone of pleasure in his voice makes her wary for a second, but she asks what he wants of her, and why she should bother. He simply replies that he thinks they might have complimentary goals, and he believes her skills could be valuable to him.

Somehow she doesn't think he's talking about sex. She agrees, provided she chooses the time and place.

They meet at a diner the next day – not the one she works at, but the one three blocks away from her crappy studio apartment – and he looks elegant but not out of place. He is a gentleman, holding out a chair for her before taking his own seat. She feels like a lady, and finds she likes that. She knows her cheap clothes make her an unworthy companion for him, but he doesn't point that out.

He tells her his organization is always on the lookout for talent, and he thinks she would be a valuable member. She asks what work they perform, and he tells her there's little that they can't do – science, entertainment, business, politics, whatever. The Black Organization is about gathering power, and they'll use any mean necessary to find it.

It's something she understands perfectly. She asks him what she can do.

He tells her that fame is a kind of power in and of itself, and currently there's no member of the organization that is part of the theater world. She has a beautiful face, but it's the mind that lies underneath that is truly valuable. He suggests she heads back to New York, and he'll take care of the rest.

She doesn't know why she decides to follow his suggestion. She doesn't trust him; she trusts no one. But she does recognize a kindred spirit. He will keep his word, but she will pay for it. She suspects it's going to be a very high price. She thinks that there's nothing that he can demand of her that is worse than what she's already suffered.

He is a very powerful man. Within three months, she's opening on Broadway in a role that earns her the Tony for best supporting actress.

* * *

She learns that killing is easy, at least for her. Let others worry about the moral repercussions; pulling a trigger is one of the simplest physical actions she's ever needed to take to secure her position. Fucking is a hell of a lot more strenuous, and often leaves bruises. 

She is twenty the first time she commits murder – no, it is an assassination, since she has no personal motives for killing the forty-three year old investment banker. She doesn't even ask the boss – as she's starting to think of him – for the reasons the man has to die. She just accepts it as part of her initiation into the Black Organization.

It's on a Monday, the night when the theater is dark. It means she has no alibi, but he tells her that they will never suspect her of being the criminal. She has no connection to the target, and no one would ever believe that one of the theater's brightest stars is a professional hit woman. While Hollywood would love the plot, experience law enforcement agents are more familiar with a less glamorous reality.

Her hair is tied up tightly and she's dressed entirely in melodramatic black, perfect for this new role. She breaks into his home using a wax key to turn the old-fashioned lock, and then makes herself comfortable in his sitting room, perched on the edge of a chair. The man is a lifelong bachelor, which is why the boss called this operation "relatively simple." If she doesn't screw it up, it will be the first of many. If she does cock up, then this might be the last night of her life.

She knows this is a test of her abilities, but she doesn't feel nervous. She's been spending months practicing the skills she's going to need, and she's always performed best under pressure. If there's one thing she's confident in, it's herself. There's nothing else to believe in.

Despite the light gloves she's wearing, she doesn't touch a thing. She looks around at the pictures on display, likely members of the target's family. They're all smiling, happy people, and somehow that makes this whole idea easier for her. She's not the envious type, but she just believe in divine justice, even if she has to give it a hand.

The door creaks open about twenty minutes later and her muscles tense in preparation. She hears shuffling footsteps as the man sets down his briefcase. There's a sigh, and seconds later the door to the sitting room opens. The man see her and there's confusion, but no fear, in his face. Or recognition, either; obviously not a theater fan.

She smiles at him as she rises to her feet, and his jaw drops a little. Maybe he thinks she's some kind of hooker or something a friend sent. He doesn't have time to ask, though, because she's shot him through the head. The gun feels natural in her hands, and her hands don't even flinch at the recoil. The silencer keeps the noise down, and she doesn't worry that his next door neighbor has heard anything to raise an alarm. She arranges the setting as the boss had specified, and makes sure there's no trace of her presence.

Then she climbs out onto the fire escape, leaving a locked room mystery behind. She takes a hot shower, grabs a cupful of chocolate ice cream, and watches old black and white films until she falls asleep. The next morning she wakes up as usual, and finds that she isn't at all bothered by what she has done. Perhaps that makes her a sociopath, but she can't bring herself to care.

* * *

She learns that she cannot always have what she wants. 

She is twenty-eight, and well-respected as one of the best in her field when he suggests she consider taking lessons in disguise. It's not a direct command, but she has seen what becomes of those that ignore what he advises. He's the one who gets her in touch with a Japanese magician, and arranges for her to start.

She's never really thought about Japan before, but she finds the country an interesting place. It's nowhere she'd want to live, but Tokyo makes a pleasant change from Hollywood and New York City. It's more packed than either, and her fair beauty stands out. Men and women pause to stare at her, but she is used to having eyes on her. It's a part of fame.

She meets Yukiko while studying under the magician. She wants to improve her disguise abilities, to gain the power to portray a believable man. There's limits to what she can do as a woman, and while she understands manipulative power, she wants to play on an even level with the boys.

They meet on the first day, sitting together in a pleasant sitting room while they wait for their teacher to arrive. She is content to keep quiet, but the other woman starts babbling away happily, like it's assumed that she is accepted and wanted.

Yukiko is unlike anyone she's ever met. The actress isn't stupid, but there's a carefree quality in her manner that she is fascinated by. At the end of that first conversation, Yukiko offers to take her out for lunch the next day so they can get to know each other. Still feeling unsure of herself in this strange culture, she accepts, thinking that Yukiko might inadvertently say something useful.

To her utter astonishment, she enjoys herself immensely. Yukiko is one of the most warm, caring souls she's ever met. Underneath her playful facade lies a heart that can embrace anyone. She tries to tell herself that Yukiko is just like everyone else, out only for herself, but that's not the truth. She's only made it as far as she has because she can accept reality for what it is.

Yukiko is one of those legendary good people, who will always help another out because it's the right thing to do. She is horrified at Yukiko's naiveté, but a previously unrecognized protective streak surfaces in her. For the first time ever, she finds someone who's actually worth spending time with.

As they learn the tricks to disguise from Kuroba-sensei, she starts to plan on a project the two of them can do together. She has enough pull to have say in who her co-stars are, and she thinks Yukiko will be eager to break into the world of the stage. While Yukiko has already known success on her television serial, this is a chance for _Broadway_, the mecca of all true actors. When she finally broaches the idea to Yukiko, though, she is shocked to be turned down. Yukiko is thinking of starting a family, and can't commit to the kind of rigorous schedule live performance demands.

She meets Yukiko's husband, Yuusaku, and thinks he's not good enough for Yukiko. He may be handsome and talented, but she knows what men are like and what they really want. To imagine him touching the sweet Yukiko, feigning words of adoration, makes her boil inside. Yukiko is too pure to have a man sully her with his touch.

For a moment, she mentally calculates a scheme to get him away from Yukiko, but again her instincts warn her against it. There's a quiet watchfulness in Yuusaku, and although he looks at her, there is no lust in his gaze. For a moment she considers trying to seduce him, but quickly decides that would be unwise. So she smiles and pretends to make friends, but both she and Yuusaku know they will never be close. Yukiko, luckily, doesn't push for more.

A year later, Yukiko is retired, happily raising a son. She sends pictures of her Shinichi periodically, most showcasing a child with stunningly blue eyes that has the good looks of both his parents. Yukiko looks so happy that a bit of her loathing toward Yuusaku fades away,

For the first time ever, she wonders what her own son looks like.

* * *

She learns that there is no God, but humans still like to play at being Him. She hears about those who pray for guidance and deliverance, but she sees none of those pleas answered. It's better to have faith in herself. 

Life has fallen into a steady rhythm that isn't unpleasant. She does what the boss tells her, and in return she enjoys the benefits of fame and fortune. For the first time in her life, her future is secure. She doesn't need to worry about where the next meal is going to come from, or earn her living on her back.

She doesn't date, despite what the tabloids claim. She does find it amusing at who she is paired with; all of the young, hot men – the type she's rarely been around, since they never need to pay for sex. She sees the badly manipulated images and can't help but smirk. She goes for years without sex, and finds it a relief. She doesn't need power over one man; she has gained power over her millions of adoring fans.

There's still excitement in her life. She finds the art of disguise thrilling, because she's learned that different personae give her access to people and places that are either below or above society's perceived notions about her station in life. She can be anyone, and do anything, and there are no consequences.

She can't help but tease Yukiko with it, when she finally brings her son to New York City to visit. All the world's a stage, after all. She dresses as a middle-aged man, and can't help but revel in the shock of Yukiko's companions after she unveils.

The boy is Yukiko's son, and she finds her traditional hatred of men somewhat abetted as she stares into his face. There is a trace of Yukiko in his features – a spark of mischief, tempered by blinding intellect. While Yuusaku is known for his brilliant mind, Yukiko is at least his equal mentally. In their son, the best of both of them is combined, and she knows that Kudo Shinichi is going to be someone to watch out for. She briefly considers giving her boss a head's up about this talented upstart – whether as a possible recruit or possible threat, she doesn't know – but decides against it. He _is_ Yukiko's son, after all. Yukiko would not be pleased if she ever found out.

Mouri Ran strikes her as a sweet, earnest child. She doesn't think on it for long, because she's got other business to take care of. Unfortunately, the boss has given her an assignment, and she doesn't have time to spent with them. She makes her excuses and then disguises herself as a serial killer who's been roaming about.

That night she gets in over her head for the first time in ages. She has chased Mouri Ran through an abandoned building, set to clean up the mess she's inadvertently made when it happens. She starts to fall over the edge of a fire escape, and for a split second she accepts she's going to die. She is afraid for the first time in years, but then Mouri Ran steps in and grabs hold of her hand.

Ran's grip is everything she's never had from another person; determination and stubbornness, strength and caring. That Ran can show such compassion to someone such as her – or even the serial killer she's pretending to be – takes her aback. Then she is safe, and escapes, but she leaves a part of her cynicism behind on that old metal structure.

Her life has been saved, even though she doesn't deserve it. While she's always slept well after a job, she doesn't go to sleep tonight. She stares up at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the sudden shift of world view.

She wonders if there really is a God, and if he's finally decided to play his hand in her life by sending an angel. It's thirty years too late, but redemption can come in the strangest forms.

* * *

She learns that sometimes, it's okay to be wrong. 

When she's in her forties, she stares into the mirror and sees the lines of age gathering on her face. She's still an attractive woman, but she no longer is breathtaking, the kind of woman who stops conversation whenever she enters a room. She still rates a second look, but not the stares of appreciation that men had once leveled on her.

She is respected in her field, acknowledged as one of the best stage actresses of her generation. But the roles she is offered don't appeal, since she's aging out of the leading female parts. She has never been any good at taking second place. Her male peers are still getting cast as leads, while the women start to look for botox and face lifts to keep a grip on their good looks. It raises memories of her mother to mind.

She recognizes how inherently unfair the double standard of attractiveness is. But life has never been fair, so she can't say she's surprised.

The boss also seems to have less use of her talents, citing the need for having a younger person do the more challenging tasks. She can still climb into those places, and she spends a couple hours every morning working out to keep her svelte form, but her body is starting to slow down, her reflexes less than what they had been. She's lost that edge of fitness that matters when doing dangerous tasks.

She's stunned to find out that she misses it. While she is not a woman to lust after blood, she misses the heady feel of power every time she manages to outwit her foes. She can't see any victory in store for her, though, because old age is something that always wins. There's nothing that can be done except accept the inevitable.

But there is.

When the boss tells her about the Apotoxin, and its potential, she can't believe what she's hearing. Then he tells her the catch; it's highly experimental, and he doesn't know if she would survive taking the pill. For the second time in their acquaintance, he offers to let her make the decision on her own. That, more than anything, tells her that this _is_ a great risk.

She thinks on it quite calmly overnight, then calls him the first thing next morning and agrees. He's at her house by noon, in person, and she doesn't let herself have second thoughts. She accepts the pill with a smile, and downs it with a glass of orange juice.

The pain is indescribable. As the poison races through her veins, the thought crosses her mind that childbirth is much, much easier. He is watching, and she doesn't want to show weakness, but the pain is unbearable and she needs to scream. Then her thoughts begin to fade, and there is merciful unconsciousness.

When she wakes up, she sees a face in the mirror that's been missing for decades. She can't believe what she's seeing, for while the boss has never lied to her before, this is unbelievable. She had expected it to kill her, a fitting end for a beautiful star. She raises a hand to touch her own, young-again features, and watches her reflection do the same. Then she starts to laugh, and can't stop.

She finally has an actual miracle, although it's a man made one.

* * *

She learns that it really is a lot of fun to attend your own funeral. The gathering is huge, and the media is all over the event. The most enjoyable part of the whole production is debuting in her new role. The boss is the one who helps her create the identity, suggesting something that is so outrageously ironic she can't resist agreeing. 

A lie is more believable the closer it is to the truth, and she has spent her life as a Vinyard. Being her own daughter is a novelty; people speak more kindly than they did to Sharon. Some also share stories of what "her mother" did. Almost invariably, they are complimentary. She listens to their voices and determines who is serious, who is not. They do not know she knows them on a different level, and knows when they're lying.

The camera loves her again, and while many people remark on her striking resemblance to her "mother," none of them guess the truth. That makes sense, since the truth defies common rational. She has discovered the fountain of youth, but unlike most people, she has no desire to share. There is only one person she would want to share immortality with, and she knows that Yukiko would not want it.

The price she pays for her rejuvenation is becoming more tightly bound to the boss. The Black Organization is starting to expand, and the boss needs the best people available to reach his goals. He is its head and heart, but more and more she is becoming his right hand. She's not entirely sure what he has planned, but it's not pretty. His demands are becoming more intense, and even she is starting to flinch at the ruthlessness of his orders.

If she is to be honest with herself – and she almost always is – she's been uneasy ever since meeting Mouri Ran. While Yukiko is the one person she desires, Ran is the one person she wants to protect. It's disconcerting, and she has to sublimate her slowly developing conscience to do what needs to be done. She has lived nearly fifty years, and she's not about to question everything she's ever done.

But when she hears the cellphone chime with that particular ring tone, a feeling of dread starts to work through her.

* * *

She learns that mistakes will come back and haunt you when you least expect it. 

She meets two of the boss' best operatives as Vermouth, and she has to restrain herself from shuddering. Vodka is nothing particularly special; he fades into the background, dominated by his more colorful, powerful partner. When they meet, she knows the gods are laughing at her for her lack of belief. Only as divine power would set up such a horrible coincidence. That, or the boss' ruthless ambition to possess everything about his operatives.

Gin is a tall man with long blond hair and an antisocial personality. He smokes too much, and is far too ready to solve problems through violence. He's brilliant, in that insane way of truly evil men, but there's something erratic in his actions. He hates her on sight, and she's not sure what she feels. She is terrified of the future she sees for him, because in him, she sees herself. History has a way of repeating, and that's what's going to happen to Gin.

Looking at him, she recognizes him immediately. It's no surprise that he works for the Black Organization – blood will always win out.

She doesn't want him to know the truth; she doesn't think it's any of his business, since she has never laid a claim to him, and never will. She is unable to avoid him, though, and she decides to make him hate her. It's the same coin as love, after all, and it's better to be loathed than ignored.

He finds her infuriating, which is a good thing because he will never guess the truth. She suspects that he's not the kind of man who's ever wondered about his birth mother, except to loathe her. He does not have the capability of feeling anything filial, and she can't deny the irony. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

One day, she pushes him too far, and he threatens to kill her if she doesn't get out of his fucking face. She declines, reminding him that she is still the boss' favorite, and killing her would not be a good idea. Gin grinds his teeth, unable to argue with that. Instead he demands to know why the hell she won't leave him alone. She laughs, and tells him the only truth she's ever spoken.

"A secret makes a woman, woman," she says playfully, and then sashays off, swaying her hips in a fashion that only experience can teach.


End file.
